Moustache

I sat in front of the mirror, gazing
At the view which I found quite amazing
For the first time ever, I had grown
A moustache of my very own

I walked along the city lanes
Swelling with pride, oblivious to pain
Oblivious also to the rude stares
Of bratty children and old women’s glares

It was quite plain why they so ogled
My moustache was pretty, so their mind boggled
The moustache in the evening wind thus flowed
That on the inside my heart glowed

I had never felt such happiness before
If a man has a moustache he needs no more
Such thoughts had I as I gave it a twirl
A pity then, that I was a girl.

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